pretty bird
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Katie visits Oliver in the hospital wing after the final battle, and maybe, just maybe everything is going to be okay.:: OliverKatie for Lizzie


**For the lovely Lizzie as a thank you for continuing her oneshot Six Shots for me. Written for the Open Categories Comp (could be canon)**

Ordinarily, Madam Pomfrey would have rushed at her, shooing her away and lecturing her about how her patients needed their rest. But there are far too many wounded upon the beds of the hospital wing, and besides, with all the hysterical loved ones, it would be nearly impossible to run everyone out.

Katie makes her way quietly along the row of beds, trying not to linger too long on any of the familiar faces. She doesn't want to think of the pain they are going through or of how easily it could have been her in their steads.

Almost at the end of the row, she finds him. His eyes are closed and his face is painted with bruises and cuts. She thinks that his breathing might be a bit too shallow, but she assumes that she's just imagining it. After all, stubborn bastard that he is, he cannot die that easily.

She sits in a chair next to him, careful to be quiet. Even if Madam Pomfrey is too busy to remind her, Katie knows that resting is an important part of healing.

He stirs, and she holds her breath, mouthing a silent prayer.

His eyes open, and he grins at her before wincing and touching a shaky hand to his busted lip. "Hello, pretty bird."

Katie can't help but to laugh. "You haven't called me that in ages," she says.

With clear difficulty, he sits up. Katie can see the way he strains and winces with each movement, but he doesn't make a sound.

It reminds her of their Quidditch days when their training could go on for hours and hours. Oliver would sometimes have bruises on his skin from stray Quaffles, and his hands would be blistered from gripping his broomstick for so long, but he would never complain.

"Well," he says, carefully swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his feet resting on the floor, "what better place to relive old memories than on my death bed?"

Katie rolls her eyes. "You're not dying. Shut up."

Oliver laughs. "No, I'm not," he agrees. "But remind me to never steer my broomstick into a swarm of dark witches and wizards again."

"It's over," she says. "I don't think you have to worry about that anymore."

Silence hangs between them, and it's far too tense for Katie's liking. Once, they could have sat in silence, completely content to just be close, to stare into each other's eyes without a sound.

But she had messed that up. After the cursed necklace incident, she had pushed him away, too haunted, too damaged to even think about letting anyone get close. He had understood, of course, and he'd respected her wishes. Some days, she almost wishes he had fought her over it.

"I'm surprised you came back," she says, breaking the silence.

"You think I'd let those bastards destroy my Quidditch pitch?"

Katie crumples slightly at that. Of course. Oliver's first love would always be the sport he's devoted his life to.

"And I knew you'd come," Oliver adds quietly.

Katie's brows raise at that. She hadn't even know that she would fight until the last minute. She had experienced Dark magic once, and she hadn't been keen to chance facing it again.

"You're a fighter," he continues. "I remember when you tried out, you fell off your broom. You finished your try-out with a broken wrist and sprained knee."

"And a light concussion," she adds.

He smiles. "That was the moment I knew I wanted you, you know. You were stubborn and clumsy, and you were so damn beautiful. You didn't let the pain and the fear stop you then, and you didn't let it stop you tonight."

Katie reaches out, taking his hand. Hints of tears sting her eyes, and she blinks them away. She doesn't want to cry, not in front of Oliver. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry."

He lifts her hand, gently kissing her knuckles. The torn skin of his lips feels rough against her hand, but the old tenderness is still there. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"But-"

"I love you, pretty bird," he whispers. "Always."


End file.
